Chapter 5: The General’s Kindness

A young general stepped into the alley, his uniform sharp and posture straight, the brass buttons gleaming in the lamplight. He made the darkness seem even deeper.

“Doesn’t matter who she is—no means no. Get lost.” His hand hovered near his service pistol, casual but clear.

The man protested, “She’s a prostitute from The Velvet Room. Anyone can have her.” He backed away, recognizing the insignia.

The general looked at me, then took off his cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders. For a second, I froze. The cloak was warm, heavy—softer than anything I’d ever owned. I didn’t know what to do with kindness. The men at The Velvet Room only wanted to undress me. He was the first to dress me.

The man backed away and ran, his footsteps echoing off the wet brick.

The general scooped me into his arms, his hands gentle despite my blood. He didn’t hesitate.

“Don’t, don’t dirty yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He adjusted his grip, careful of my wounds.

I tried to stand, thanked him, and staggered forward, bracing against the wall. Each step sent fresh agony through me. My legs gave out and I slid down to kneel on the ground.

He caught up. “Where’s your home? I’ll take you.”

Even after saving me, I couldn’t trust him. Men never did anything for free.

I pushed his hand away and untied the cloak. “I have no home. Here’s your cloak.”

“No need.” He looked genuinely confused, his hand paused midair.

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. The world spun.

He cursed under his breath, then sighed and picked me up again. “I’ll take you to my place. Don’t worry—I’m General Marcus Garrison, Northern Defense.”